Not Worth Saving
by Drouse14
Summary: Destiel/Sabriel highschool AU. Dean and Sam have just settled into Lawrence High School. Castiel is the school outcast. When he and Dean meet as juniors, an irreplaceable bond forms as they realize their feeling for each other. Johns abusive, Castiel is empty, Dean is losing hope, and Gabriel is Gabriel.
1. Chapter 1

"Dean!" Sam screamed as their father smashed Dean's head against the wall. Dean had told him never to interfere when dad was beating him, or he would get hurt. But Dean was losing consciousness and Sam couldn't let John hurt Dean if Dean couldn't fight back. Little Sammy rammed his body against John's, pushing their father to the floor. Luckily, John was much clumsier on his feet when he was drunk, and he slammed easily into the yellowed carpet of the motel room. But both of the boys knew that the adrenaline coursing through their father's veins made wouldn't allow him to be knocked out so easily.

Dean struggled to stand, green eyes unseeing, and led Sam into the bathroom, where he slammed and locked the door merely seconds before John's body hit it. Dean was used to this by now, and unfortunately so was Sammy. But this time, Sam was the one helping his 17 year-old brother steady himself on the side of the tub, as the 15 year-old snatched up one of the motel's white washcloths and began wiping the blood from Dean's jaw and checking for fractures. Dean was sitting with his head in his hands, breathing in short, gasping breaths as his heart rate slowed. His short, golden-brown hair was matted with sweat and blood. Sam slid down the wall next to his big brother and leaned his head on Dean's shoulders, Sam's dark hair getting sticky with his brother's blood. It was late, and, as much as Sam wanted to make sure Dean was alright, he couldn't have stopped his dad, or fought back the current heaviness that weighed down his soft brown eyes.

* * *

Even with Sam asleep on his shoulder, Dean couldn't relax enough to block out the crashes coming from the other room. His father trashed nearly every motel room, and Dean was the one to clean everything up; it was a never-ending cycle. John had his first fit of drunken rage a few months after Dean's mother, Mary, died in a house fire 4 years ago. At first, John went through the normal stages of grief one would suffer after the death of a loved one. All three of the boys were heartbroken. But John was their _father_, their rock; or at least he was supposed to be.

As the boys slowly built themselves up from despair, John just seemed to drag himself farther down. He used alcohol to wash away the sadness. It worked. John was no longer sad. But he wasn't a happy drunk; he was violent. John didn't mind one bit; anger was a better feeling than sorrow. But Sam and Dean cared. At first for their father; they couldn't bear to lose another loved one. But their father was fading. John Winchester was alive, but the father that those two boys once knew was long gone, a seething stranger in his place. When Dean began to understand this, he realized that his new job was to care for his brother, as his father was too far gone.

Eventually, John's anger overflowed into his actions. He went from punching plaster to knocking his own flesh and blood unconscious. John blamed Dean for Mary's death, Dean couldn't fathom why. But that didn't stop John from taking his anger out on his son. Dean had always taken care of Sam, but when Sam got to the age where he realized what was going on, and tried to intervene, Dean's goal switched from staying alive, to protecting lil Sammy.

John and the boys were constantly on the run, moving from town to town. As neither one of them was 18, Sam and Dean were dragged along on John journey to get as far away from that house as possible. No matter how far he got, John couldn't seem to run away from the death of his wife. He dragged his sons from motel to motel, and they had rarely stayed in the same place long enough to go to school. But here in Lawrence, Kansas, John had recently acquired a part-time job as a mechanic. Not to buck-up and support his family, but due to the fact that he was burning up their 'rainy day' money at a rapid rate. This included Sam and Dean's college accounts. Dean never expected to make it through high school, but his younger brother had potential, and he wasn't about to let an 8-pack of Heineken take that away.

Tomorrow was Sam and Dean's first day at Lawrence High school, and Dean had taken Sam school shopping the day before with the money that he'd gotten from bets. They had their backpacks ready in Dean's 1967 Chevy Impala, which he drove Sam everywhere in to keep him away from John. Of course, with this opportunity of freedom, Sam had asked Dean why they hadn't run away yet. Despite Dean's hatred of his father, he loved him deep inside and wouldn't leave him, who knows what John would do without Dean to take care of him. It would get better soon, that's what he always told Sam. It'll get better. Dad will get better. It's just a phase, Sammy. _A four year phase_. But deep down, Dean wasn't too sure of that, he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

This time, though, they might actually have a chance to settle down for a bit, and Sam could maybe get a sense of normality. As his vision faded out, Dean's mind was stuck with firm determination, that tomorrow would be a better day.~


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up around 7 and nudged Sam awake. With Dean placing one hand on the small marble sink to steady himself, they struggled to their feet and Dean reached over and unlocked the door. Peering through the crack, he could see most of the room. The small, white, can-filled kitchen off to the right, and as he moved his vision left, he could see John sprawled out on one of the two royal blue beds, still in his clothes from last night.

Dean opened the door and led Sam out, carefully stepping over the various shards and spills on the dark carpet. Since the boys were still fully clothed, Dean grabbed his car keys from the mahogany dining table across from the beds, and creaked the front door open as quietly as he could. Walking briskly across the asphalt with Sam trailing behind, Dean pulled the silver handle of the black Impala,_ his _black Impala, and slid into the tan upholstery, feeling relief wash over him as he settled into the one place he could call home. It was very rare that either of the boys had any material possessions, but he had gotten this car on his 15th birthday, and cared for it ever since. Sam popped open the passenger door and slid into _his brother's_ car (he never forgot that), turning around to check that their backpacks still resided in the backseat. Dean started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot, both boys tense, expecting John to burst out the motel room door any second.~

Despite Dean's reluctance to take his eyes off of Sam, he understood that he probably shouldn't follow him into homeroom. As the door closed behind his brother, Dean pulled his crumpled schedule out of his pocket, and followed the flow of people drifting down the halls of Lawrence High. Stalking through the hall, pure white tiled floor gleaming, Dean's subconscious decided it didn't like this hallway. The glossy white walls, white doors, off-white lockers, heck, even the hall lights were clearly white. But the variety of teens rushing up the corridor added a splash of color to the building.

Looking around at his peers, Dean tried to predict which label he'd end up with. "The Nerds." Dean thought, as a group of awe-stricken, pimpled adolescent boys stared down the hall. They definitely fit the stereotype, what, with their white collared shirts, thick glasses, and though some were wearing jeans and tennis shoes, they definitely matched the 'geek' look. Now getting a good look at what the boys were looking at, Dean glanced at a group of pencil-thin girls in ruffled blue miniskirts, loose tops barely clinging to their shoulders. Obviously the cheerleading squad. By their sides was the loyal football team, muscled and tanned, carrying the girls' miniscule backpacks. Dean doubted there was any room in the backpacks, with the amount of makeup the chicks seemed to be wearing.

There were also the Goths, which appeared to Dean in a small swarm of black rushing past him. The hipsters made Dean's stomach churn. LHS was an incredibly stereotypical high school, right out of 'The Breakfast Club'. Dean was pondering how movie-like it all was, as he rounded a corner into a less crowded section of the building where his first period was. A few nerds there, a couple druggies here. Dean knew he wasn't a nerd; those guys would probably end up being Sammy's friends. He didn't really want to be a quarterback. He wasn't touching any substances because Sam needed him, and Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't look good in a ruffled blue miniskirt. So Dean didn't have a group. And he knew from his experiences in schools all over the country that being an outcast wasn't a good idea, so he'd need to make some friends sooner or later.

Dean managed to drag himself to Chemistry on time, which was unusual for him. Not wanting to join any of the labels in the room right now, Dean strolled to the back and slid into an empty seat. The black tables were made for 2 people, side-by-side, and most of the empty ones started filling up, starting with the ones in front. The smart kids were almost tackling each other for the last front row seat. You'd think this was a concert or something. The bell rang, and Mrs. Ellen introduced herself. Launching into the lab rules, Dean let out a small sigh, realizing that the rest of the day would be about rules.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry I can't update everyday guys. People are telling me to update but I didn't expect people to actually read the story. But you did. And thank you so much. This chapters'really short, sorry.

The bell finally rang, and Dean threw his backpack over his shoulder, and went off to Art. Dean had no idea why he took Art; he wasn't an artsy kind of guy. He guessed that it would be an easy A. After all, teachers don't give students Fs on artwork, it'd be a pretty dick move to go up to some kid and tell them that their painting wasn't as good as the kid's next to them. But then again, Dean didn't even need an A, or even a C. His grades didn't matter to his 'parent', they didn't matter to him, and he sure as hell wasn't trying to get into Harvard. Dean walked through the hallway, craning his neck to see if Sam had a class in this area.

He reached room 103 without any sight of his brother, and begrudgingly opened the door. Again, Dean sat in the back. Looking around, he could easily tell why each of the people in the room were there. A few guys looked like they were there for them same reason as Dean, and needed to up their grades to stay in sports. Then there were the snazzier gentlemen, who were clearly there for the ladies. Some loners, who looked like they were actually there for the art, but would paint everything in grayscale. There was the teacher, standing up front in an ugly sweater, even though it was way past Christmas, who was there because she needed the minimum-wage job of teaching the future generations the difference between red and blue. And then there was the girl who plopped down in the seat next to Dean, with a melt-your-eyeballs smile and a 48-pack of colored pencils. She looked talkative. He didn't do talkative. Dean would have preferred to sit alone, but if anyone sat down next to him, he was hoping for a pretty, quiet girl, with big boobs. But instead, he got this pretty girl, with average boobs, who turned to him and said;

"Hi, new partner, my name is Joanna Beth Harvelle, but you can call me Jo! Not like, J-O-E, just J-O. What's your name?"

Damn. She expected him to respond. Dean wasn't sure what to do. Should he just turn his back like he would usually do? Or should he try to make friend in the hopes that John wouldn't make them wouldn't pack up and leave within the next week. His eyes swept across the classroom, glancing at all the other humans that he wanted nothing to do with. He looked back at Jo, who was staring at him, patiently waiting for an answer. She seemed like the lesser evil.

"Dean. My name is Dean." It felt so weird to say that to another person, with the expectation of forming a bond. Dean had never made many acquaintances.

"Cool, like James Dean. Cool."

Jo finished unpacking her bag as the teacher went up to the board. She introduced herself as Mrs. Madden. Then she turned around. The arm of her ugly sweater reached up, dry erase marker in hand, and pressed the tip to the whiteboard. She then walked across to the other side of the board, dragging the pen against the surface until she reached the other side. Mrs. Madden turned around, capped the pen, and looked at the class expectantly.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Some kid raised her hand. "A line?"

"No."

"A really long dot?"

"No."

"A point moving through space?"

"No."

Nobody had an answer. So they just sat there. Jo pulled out her notebook and began to doodle. Dean fell asleep. He was jolted awake when the bell rang. As students began to stand up, Mrs. Madden stopped them.

"The bell doesn't dismiss you. Can anyone tell me what I drew on the board?"

No one even tried.

Mrs. Madden sighed. "I drew potential. This line has potential. Just like every single one of you."

Dean almost groaned aloud as he stalked out of the room. You get a real good sense of the teachers on the first day.

His third period was right across the hall, so Dean decided to stay outside for a minute. Being the first to walk into a classroom draws attention to you. Dean blends, Sam blends, no inquiries into their lives are made.

After a few kids file in, Dean ducks through the door and takes a seat in the middle of the his calculus class, leaning back in his chair and waiting for the next bell to ring. One by one, teens tediously make their way through the door and to a seat.

As the bell rings, a 60-something year old balding man slowly makes his way to the front of the classroom. His checkered bowtie makes him look like a genius, albeit one that seems as though he could have a heart attack at any minute, and Deans' wondering where his life could have gone so wrong as to end up teaching advanced mathematics to indifferent delinquents. The teacher (Mr. Arnold) begins to talk, but Dean finds that he has the voice of a walrus; deep and droning, the thing that puts you to sleep in a minute. So Dean instead focuses on leaning as far back into his chair as he can without cracking his head open, testing the very limits of society.

10 minutes into the lecture Mr. Arnold was explaining why hand-held calculators were the work of the devil. Suddenly the door slams open and a boy runs in. This snaps Dean out of his daydream as he falls to the floor, his chair tipping over. The boy shuts the door behind him and speed-walks to the back of the room, choosing an empty seat. Dean gets up and glances at Mr. Arnold, who's holding the edge of his desk like he's about to keel over.


	4. Chapter 4

When Mr. Arnold finally regains his breath, he turns to the whiteboard and begins writing out a lesson plan, as if nothing ever happened. Dean glances around and sees that all the other students are going about their normal routine as well, quickly recovering from the surprise visitor's dramatic entrance. The Dean shifts around to look at the boy in the back. He's sitting his head down, staring at his hands, making no effort to remove his backpack. His messy, jet-black hair covers his face, but from what Dean can see, the boy's skin is pale. He's wearing a short-sleeved, black Metallica T-shirt (the kid has good taste in music), with a long sleeved white shirt underneath. This outfit is completed with a pair of black skinny jeans and converse. As Dean starts to turn his attention back to the board, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the boy lift his head up, ever so slightly, to reveal a pair over piercing blue eyes. Eyes like dark sapphires, or the reflection of the moon off a deep lake. Eyes that look as though they could burn their way to your soul yet could freeze your very being with an icy glare.

Dean realized he was staring. Dean Winchester didn't stare. And apparently neither did anyone else in the room at the rate they were ignoring the mysterious boy in the back row. So Dean turned back around to stare at his notebook instead.

In an effort to distract himself from the person two seats behind him, Dean turned his mind to Sam. Sam's past; how he was ripped out of his normal, loving family life and thrown into a dark abyss of hatred and fear. Sam's present; how hopeful he must feel at the prospect of staying in one place at one school, making friends and rebuilding his family. And Sam's future; his disappointment when he would realize that John wouldn't change his ways, the sense of rejection when his own father would gather up enough money to send him to community college.

Even though Dean was going through the same situation, he didn't care. He didn't care about himself. He'd often wondered what would have happened if he didn't have Sammy, didn't have anyone to look out for. Lord knows he wouldn't look after himself. The only thing that kept Dean from going to sleep and never waking up was the 6ft ball of hope that was his little brother.

Dean's train of thought was derailed by the ringing of the school bell echoing throughout the halls. Before he has a chance to close his notebook, the kid with the blue eyes jumps up, chair screeching across the linoleum, and bolts out of the room, leaving the door swinging in his wake.

Dean's 4th period is PE. As he dresses out, he can hear someone getting slammed against locker 3 rows down. The kid should have known better than to draw attention to himself. When Dean walks out of the cafeteria with his lunch tray, he sees Jo sitting over in the shade of an oak. Knowing that Jo is the closest thing he has or has ever had to a friend, Dean doesn't see any harm in walking up and sitting down beside her.ǂ

ǂCastiel limps out the back door of the locker room. He's not thinking about the attack. He's not thinking about his wrist, throbbing from being slammed inside a locker too many times to count. He's not thinking about what he did to provoke those 3 boys. Castiels' not thinking about anything. He tries not to think too much anymore. Last time he let his brain analyze his life, he nearly shot himself in the head. So Castiel doesn't think about his life anymore. Instead, he's on autopilot, feet dragging him to the tree where he sits with Jo every day.

When Castiel turns the corner, he sees another boy sitting next to Jo. He didn't think about it. He went up to the big oak, leaned back against it, and lowered himself gently to the ground, gingerly holding his hip with his good hand. If he did have emotions, he'd probably be angry at the juniors that bumped him with their car 1st period.

Jo finishes chewing her sandwich before turning to him, her back to Dean.

"Cas, I'd like to introduce you to Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Castiel."

Dean shifts himself forward to look over at Castiel, a spark of realization in his eyes. Jo's friend was the blue-eyed boy he'd seen in Math. The second thing he saw was the bruise forming on Cas's left cheek. He rolled his eyes inwardly at the first thing that popped into his head; Castiel was being abused too. But of course not, no, not by his father; by other kids. That's why no one seemed to notice him. He didn't matter, just a ghost drifting in the wind. And as Dean looked into Castiel's eyes, just beneath the ocean waves, he could see that emptiness echoing straight to his soul.

Jo offered Cas the rest of her sandwich as she tried to engage the two boys in conversation. Trying to get Cas to open his mouth, she began to ask him what he had thought of the Metallica concert they had gone to last week. That was one topic Dean knew how to talk about. Time passed rapidly as they debated their favorite songs, with even Castiel putting in a word or two. Before they knew it, the bell had rung and Dean waved his new friends off, heading to English.~

It was Friday, and the week had passed without Jo and Cas deserting him. Dean wasn't sure how Sam was doing in the friendship area, so at lunch he invited his little brother over to sit with them. They were actually staying here longer than expected, John hadn't been fired (yet), and Dean thought Sam could use some normalcy in his school life.

The boys were driving back to their motel room when Sam pointed out the window.

"Hey, look, there's Cas."

Dean glanced over and saw a figure in a grey jacket, hunched over in the cold January air.

"Well?"

"Well, what Sammy?"

"Aren't you going to offer him a ride?"

For some reason, Dean didn't want to. But he had no tangible reason to refuse. So Dean pulled over to the very right and slowed down to a snail's pace. Sam rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Hey Cas!"

Castiel flinched, and turned to look. Realizing it was just Sam, he walked up next to the car.

"Do you need a ride?"

"I don't need one."

"Do you want one?"

"Needing and wanting aren't the same thing."

"Just get in the fucking car." Dean chimed in from the driver's seat, in a tone just soft enough that it didn't sound angry.

Sam leaned back and unlocked the door, and Castiel climbed in, relaxing against the leather.

Cas gave them directions, and within minutes, Dean pulled up at a huge Victorian mansion. Dean was surprised, to say the least, but Sam was hanging out the window with his mouth wide open.

"Can we go inside?" Sam breathed, full of curiosity.

Dean smacked him in the shoulder. Curiosity gets you noticed.

But Castiel nodded and motioned at them to follow him up the driveway. Sam leapt out of the car, his brother following behind cautiously.

* * *

Took me longer than usual on this one, sorry. I have some wonderful ideas for the next chapters, just need to get to certain events. Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

From the outside, Cas's house looked like it belonged to a normal, white-picket-fence family. But then again, that's how Dean's house looked when John first started drinking. Dean knew that most families weren't like his, and that Castiel would probably have a loving family. But part of him couldn't help but wonder if Cas was panicked at the thought of someone meeting his parents, the same way Dean would be if Cas wanted to meet John. But Castiel inserted his key in the door anyway, and opened the door to a large, fancy front room. 3 teenage boys were lounging on the couch with their feet on the coffee table, greatly contrasting the fleur-de-lis wall paper and spotless white banisters. The first one to take his eyes off the flat screen TV had golden hair almost as long as Sam's. He saw Castiel and got up off the couch, arms stretched above his head as he yawned. "Hey lil bro. Who you got there?" He said gesturing at Sam and Dean. "Dean, Sam, meet Gabriel." Cas spoke softly in a voice that wasn't often used. Gabriel stepped up and shook Dean's hand, then Sam's. "You can call me Gabe." He said winking at Sam. Sam didn't react. "This over here is Michael and Lucifer." The teens grunted respectively in response to their names, never moving. Dean turned to Castiel. "You have a brother named Lucifer?" "It suits him." Was all Cas said. While it was common knowledge that one of the devil's names was Lucifer, neither Sam nor Dean noticed that the rest of the family was named after angels. Their mother used to read them the Bible, but Sam was too young to remember. Dean had lost his faith three years ago, and the Bible had become nothing more than a book on each motel side table. The three boys followed Gabe to the kitchen. "Anybody want pancakes?" Gabe asked, already digging through the fridge. "At 4 in the afternoon?" Dean asked skeptically. Gabe shrugged. "Sam?" Sam looked at his big brother with questioning eyes. They barely ate anything other than fast-food or free school lunches. Dean didn't see any harm in the offer, so he nodded. "Sure Gabe, thanks." Sam replied. "You better not be eating, Gabriel, dinners' in an hour." Sam and Dean turn toward the door to see the Michael in the doorway. "I was just trying to be nice." "Castiel, why are they here anyway?" Michael asked, not quite threateningly, but with an edge to his voice. Dean understood the he was the leader of these 3 teenagers. He wondered if Castiel's parents were alive, or just never home. "They were just dropping me off, sir." Castiel didn't make eye contact with Michael. "I'll show them out," Gabriel budged in, looking eager to get out of the kitchen, "Come on guys." Sam and Dean followed Gabe to the ornate front room, waving to Castiel as they left the kitchen. As Gabe was unlocking the door, he turned to the brothers "Sorry about that, guys, Michael can be a dick." He turns to Sam. "So I'll be seeing you around school, right Sammy?" Dean recognized the way Gabe said his brother's nickname. The same way he said it when he was comforting him. "You're a senior, right?" Sam asked and Gabe nodded. "You do know I'm a freshman?" Gabe chuckled. "Pretty tall for a freshman." He opened to door and walked out onto the porch, watching the brothers walk down the driveway. Dean walked around to the driver's side of the black impala, and Sam climbing into the passenger side, waved. Gabriel waved back with a sad smile on his face as he heard a door slam upstairs.~ Sam and Dean pulled into the motel parking lot, not seeing any sign of John's white pickup. Dean turned off the car, silencing the blaring radio, and unlocked the doors. They got out and shut the doors, and Dean locked the car. The brothers walked into the motel room and Dean was pleasantly surprised to see that John wasn't home. With his long-term schooling, and John's somewhat steady job, Dean actually began to feel tendrils of normalcy, despite the fact that the 3 lived in a motel room. "Go get ready for bed, Sam." Sam looked at his brother with curiosity, it was only 8, but he trusted his brother enough to go into the bathroom and shower. Dean stripped down to his boxers, eager to get to sleep before his father got home. They never knew what kind of day John had at work, but didn't like taking chances. If the boys were asleep, John was less likely to beat them. 


End file.
